


Raccoon

by A_Saint_And_His_Trash



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Short Story, TW obsession, barely acknowledged but Monika is the narrator, description of Yuri’s emotion, graphic description of Yuri’s er.... hobby, tw self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Saint_And_His_Trash/pseuds/A_Saint_And_His_Trash
Summary: Just a little thing I wrote about Yuri, please don’t read if your even a little bit triggered by self harm.
Kudos: 6





	Raccoon

She sits in her bedroom, once again slicing at her own arm. Like it was feeding her, like it was saving her, indentation followed by red, sloping off her forearm. You could see just from looking at her how much she savoured the feeling, like a drug, like sex, breath getting heavy, mind getting fuzzy, no intent on stopping. 

It was all getting too crowded, these emotions she was feeling. Filling her up and making her insides so cramped like they were going to burst right out of her. Tampering with her thoughts, tampering with her sleep, tampering with her life. It was never this bad, it was never this much, sure, sometimes the stress of being herself encouraged her to make a couple of slices but never this much. But she wasn’t feeling stressed, no, she was feeling something worse. She was in love.

Love? Is this what love is? She stares down at her carefully moving hands as they continue to work on her skin, the quick and hot pain cutting through her thoughts and giving her a moments peace from it all. This wasn’t right. It had been a reoccurring thought whenever she’s sane enough to think it, but she never truly understand what to do with it. This must be love, what else could it be? They say love makes them stick to your mind , they say love makes you do silly things, but surely this was far beyond the boundaries of love. She has surpassed love, she had surpassed any emotions she was willing and capable of comprehending without going mad in the process. She supposed she was obsessed.

Her hand stops, suddenly yet certainly as she watches the blood pool, there was so much of it, too much, but yet she was calmer. When she started, her hand was shakey and her breathing was bordering hyperventilation but now she was noticeably calmer. Her grip on the knife was firm, no longer riddled with desperation. Her breathing, though still uneven, was slower and longer. The problem was fixed. Mess is mess, easy to clean, but impossible to get rid off. When you scrub that dirty blade off in the sink, where does the red go? It’s still there, but out of sight. 

All this because.... of you. Because of how you plagued her mind, how your kindness stuck to her like gum in the hair of a spoilt child, how your touch called to her. Because of you. If you would have just ignored her, yelled at her, given not a drop of you kindness, perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen as badly as she did. She’s fragile, you know? Fragile in a sort of way a missile is when it hits the target. Tomorrow will not be a happy day, tomorrow she will get cocky, tomorrow she will show you just how bad you have made her fall. That is for certain. 

What will she be thinking then? When she asks that nervous yet desperate question, watching your expressions morph in thought as her own rush at the possibilities, not realising they all had the same out come. What will she be thinking then? When you answer, sending her into a state of pure raging emotions. Too much emotions to cope with in a moment, too much to live with. What will she be thinking then? When she watches your eyes turn to terror as she shoves that bladed friend of hers into her soul, her hand not fast enough to reach the wrist and too desperate to care. What will she be thinking then? As she feels her life fade, only seeing you crawling away from her body with fear streaming down your face, her bones cooling to room temperature. I can tell you what she was thinking in the last one, the loving and happy look she gives you even as she dies on the classroom floor tells it well. 

“I love you”


End file.
